52 FAMILIAR COLLOQUIES.
they shew a wooden altar consecrated to the holy Virgin; it is a very small one, and remarkable for nothing except as a monument of antiquity, reproaching the luxury of the present times. In that place the good man is reported to have taken his last leave of the Virgin, when he was at the point of death. Upon the altar is the point of the sword with which the top of the head of that good prelate was wounded, and some of his brains that were beaten out, to make sure work of it. We most religiously kissed the sacred rust of this weapon out of love to the martyr.
Leaving this place, we went down into a vault underground; to that there belong two showers of relics. The first thing they shew you is the skull of the martyr, as it was bored through; the upper part is left open to be kissed, all the rest is covered over with silver. There also is shewn you a leaden plate with this inscription, Thomas Acrensis. And there hang up in a great place the shirts of hair-cloth, the girdles, and breeches with which this prelate used to mortify his flesh, the very sight of which is enough to strike one with horror, and to reproach the effeminacy and delicacy of our age. Me. Nay, perhaps of the monks themselves. Og. That I can neither affirm nor deny, nor does it signify much to me. Me. You say right.
Og. From hence we return to the choir. On the north side they open a private place. It is incredible what a world of bones they brought out of it, skulls, chins, teeth, hands, fingers, whole arms, all which we having first adored, kissed; nor had there been any end of it had it not been for one of my fellow-travellers, who indiscreetly interrupted the officer that was shewing them. Me. Who was he? Og. He was an Englishman, his name was Gratian Pullus, a man of learning and piety, but not so well affected to this part of religion as I could wish he were. Me. I fancy he was a Wickliffite. Og. No, I believe he was not, though he had read his books; but I do not know where he had them. Me. Did he make the officer angry? Og. He took out an arm having yet some bloody flesh upon it; he shewed a reluctance to the kissing it, and a sort of uneasiness in his countenance: and presently the officer shut up all his relics again. After this we viewed the table of the altar, and the ornaments; and after that those things that were laid up under the altar: all was very rich; you would have said Midas and Croesus were beggars compared to them, if you beheld the great quantities of gold and silver.
Me. And was there no kissing here? Og. No, but my mind was touched with other sorts of wishes. Me. What were they? Og. I made me sigh to think I bad no such relics in my own house. Me. A sacrilegious wish! Og. I confess it, and I humbly begged pardon of the saint before I set my foot out of the church. After this we were carried into the vestry. Good God! what a pomp of silk vestments was there, of golden candlesticks! There we saw also St. Thomas’s foot. It looked like a reed painted over with silver; it hath but little of weight, and nothing of workmanship, and was longer than up to one’s girdle. Me. Was there never a cross?
Og. I saw none. There was a gown shewn; it was silk, indeed, but coarse and without embroidery or jewels, and a handkerchief, still having plain marks of sweat and blood from the saint’s neck. We readily kissed these monuments of ancient frugality. Me. Are these
